


Beasts Were Not Meant to Be Tamed

by A_Tired_Writer



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Denial of Feelings, Dimitri Struggles, Emotional Hurt, Feelings, Hurt, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Post-Time Skip, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 00:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Tired_Writer/pseuds/A_Tired_Writer
Summary: Felix did not know why he tried.





	Beasts Were Not Meant to Be Tamed

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't finished chapter 16 and/or reached Felix's and Dimitr's A Support, I suggest yeeting.

Beasts were not meant to be tamed. They relished in the blood of their prey and slithered through the shadows, waiting to snap the neck of those they were targeting. They roared and howled and snarled at all those who opposed, all those who questioned the power coiling beneath their skin. They tore through muscle and bone, shuddered in joy at the scent of blood, fell asleep to the screams of the pained and the innocent.

Beasts were not meant to be tamed. Felix did not know why he tried.

The boar had managed, by some miracle that could only be described as holy intervention, to crawl out of the hole he’d been digging for himself for the past five years. Felix was not a fool; he knew it was, in great part, due to Dedue’s impeccably timed return. Watching the boar take in the sight of his long-lost friend had been . . . intense. Felix had seen something incredible, embers of hope sparking in his chest that he’d tried so hard to silence over the years; he’d thought, for a split second, that the boy he’d once known had come back. He’d thought—he’d been so _foolish_ as to think Dimitri would ever be as Felix had once known him, kind and abundantly loving and so willing to let Felix cling to his arm.

He knew there was a part of the boar that was undamaged. Even if that part was minuscule, barely anything against his blood-soaked hands and the wild abandon in his eyes—even if it was so scarce and rarely shown that Felix had to fight to remember it, it was there. He knew. The boar had a human heart; instincts of a killer and the bloodlust of a beast, perhaps, but the heart of the king everyone knew he could be. That was, quite possibly, the only thing that had kept him alive—or, as alive as the beast could have been.

Felix wasn’t entirely _how_ he was still standing. Professor had needed to sprint after the boar prince, who was bleeding from a wound too deep in his side and marching forward as if nothing was wrong. Mercedes had nearly swatted him upside the head, rambling on about how he needed to stay alive for the sake of everyone, not just himself. His Beastliness, at least, had enough decency to be sheepish, apologize for all the trouble he caused—but Felix knew better. That _look_ had flitted across the icy surface of the boar prince’s eyes, that cold fire that fueled every one of his movements—_had_ fueled him for the past how many years. If they hadn’t been there to stop Dimitri, there was no telling how much of his blood would have been spilt on the soil. Not even Felix could convince himself that was a good thing.

“Was there something you needed, Felix?”

Felix scoffed. “I’m making sure you don’t go and chop someone’s head clean off, boar.”

The boar only hummed. He’d never been too fazed when Felix spat those cruel names at him—not outwardly, anyway. Felix wouldn’t put it past the beast to scream about it in his room or on the training grounds where no one could hear him.

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

This was where the issue lay; Felix _hated it_ when he talked about himself so—so _maliciously_. Every time Felix spat out insults, it was for his own benefit, and to convince the prince that what he was saying was true; he didn’t need Dimitri to _agree_ with him, not so readily.

“Stop that.”

The boar turned one blue eye on him—and how cruel was it, that despite everything that had happened since Duscur, blue eyes were still home to Felix? The beast stood stock still, frozen with shock. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t—” Felix felt an irritated flush creep up onto his cheeks. “Stop talking about yourself like that.”

“That’s all you’ve been saying to me for years.”

“Because I—”

Because what? Oh, Felix knew the answer, had come to the excruciating conclusion when he’d tossed and turned at night, worried that he’d never see Dimitri again—a horror Felix _never_ wanted to experience. And why was that? Beasts were practically created to be put down—so why, why on _Earth_ would Felix yearn so painfully to see Dimitri in one piece, to be able to spar with the beast once more?

Boar this, beast that, creature something or rather. Felix had to use those names, because—to call that thing in front of him by the name of his best friend would be to admit he’d never be able to keep that part of his past safe, away from the blood and tragedy of war, of the calamity in Duscur. Never again would he be able to think _Dimitri_ and see the loveliest blue eyes, staring down at him adoringly as the prince worked him through some basic footwork for holding a lance. He couldn’t think fondly of their small adventures with Sylvain and Ingrid, up to no good but having the most fun any group of children could have. Those memories would be smeared with crimson, burned around the edges until nothing was left but blackened ash, unreachable and _ruined_.

So, no; Dimitri was the boy in Felix’s memories, in his heart. The boar was the thing standing in front of him.

“Because what, Felix?”

The Fradalius heir bared his teeth. “_Nothing_.” _Don’t say my name._

“I’m glad to have you here.”

_Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking_. “I didn’t think you were capable.”

“Neither did I.”

Again, Felix bristled, but his throat was too tight and his lungs too empty to squeeze out any scathing reply. He settled for glaring at the boar’s head as he turned back to the front of the fallen cathedral.

_You’re serving your own ego._ Felix had said those words, spat them with all the hatred he felt for nearly everyone _but_ the boar, and still believed them. He couldn’t imagine the twisted sort of torture the beast would have had to inflicted on himself to become barely a shell of the boy he’d once been. If Felix looked closely enough, he could almost see the boar’s reactions to the whispers of the dead, the cold touch of those who knew the soil better than they did fresh air. His father and brother were among them, the lost and soon-to-be forgotten. Felix doubted their memory, their story would last beyond him. To look at this _wraith_—it made him sick. The boar was not dead, and therefore he could not act like it. Felix wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he suddenly saw Glenn walking the halls, his voice unable to reach his brother and hopelessness eating away at everything he was. To come so close to calling out to Dimitri, to risk not being heard, being forgotten and cast aside—Felix was sure being captured by Imperial forces would prove more pleasant.

“Why do you spend so much time here?” he asked, just to see if his voice would be heard. Pain had become a dear friend, after all, when the one who’d filled that spot once upon a time was nowhere to be found.

“I think . . .” The boar leaned his head back, and—the way he went lax, the way he let out a small sigh as if he’d be able to simply expel all his worries and pain—Felix was almost tempted to use that beloved name. “I think I’m waiting for the Goddess to strike me down.”

That taste of happiness evaporated in a cloud of smoke. “That’s _bullshit_.” Felix was beyond fuming, feet thudding against the marble of the cathedral floor as he neared the boar. “You’re a selfish _bastard_, you know that? You’re the only hope Faerghus has at surviving this war, of not becoming some sort of offshoot of the Empire, and you have the _gall_ to wish for the Goddess to smite you?”

“No. She does not have a hand in such things. But don’t you think, if she did, this would be the time she truly showed herself?” The heart wrenching sadness in the boar’s eyes was sickening. Felix was losing himself. “To be rid of the beast?”

“The Goddess has more than half a brain,” Felix ground out, “and wouldn’t kill the Kingdom’s only hope at flourishing.”

“I don’t think I can provide hope for anyone,” the boar said, getting dangerously close to a person Felix had known.

“We all saw Fhirdiad, boar.” Felix couldn’t find it in himself to keep up the spite, to fuel whatever hateful fire was burning low in his chest. “Everyone there is ecstatic you’ve returned.”

“And what of you? Haven’t you grown tired of the tombstones hanging around my neck?”

Felix winced; he did not regret those words either, but he wished with his whole heart that he didn’t have to hear them repeated—not in a tone so melancholic as that one. “If they were still there, I doubt you’d be standing.”

“You truly did help me, you know.”

Felix crossed his arms. “How so?”

“Since the day I met you, I’d always been able to rely on you. Whether it was to turn my head and see you there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, or to cut me down with the harshest combination of words you could manage, you never faltered. Before Duscur; after, at the Academy—and even beyond that, for right here, right now, you’re at my side.”

The most pathetic part of it all? Felix had never been able to come up with a better place to be. He didn’t stick to Dimitri’s side as diligently or as eagerly, if at all, but he’d never had the heart to jump on a boat and seek out a talented swordsmith he knew resided beyond the sea; he couldn’t bring forth the urge to chase the dreams he’d told himself he had, because—well, he could stay here. He could swing his sword, master whatever blade was put into his hands, be strong enough to best an opponent he’d never face again. He had no reason to leave—not really. Not one that mattered more than what was keeping him here.

“Your hair is ridiculous.”

Felix fought back the instinct to jump away form the hand that came up to his hair. _Blood-stained, tainted, destructive_. He should walk away. He should thrust the hilt of his sword into Dim—the boar’s armour hard enough to leave a dent, make him go through the process of getting it fixed—or, even better, having to get a whole new piece made. But—

The touch was significantly more familiar than it was alarming. Felix had turned up his nose a cutting his hair at the first opportunity, and Dimitri had made quite the habit of playing with the inky locks. When they’d sit under their tree, a certain blonde and redhead bickering back and forth about how inappropriate it was to make eyes at a mannequin, Dimitri would idly play with whatever of Felix’s hair he could reach. Felix had been floored, flushing with both joy and shame as he asked Dimitri just what he was doing. Dimitri had shrugged, a truly inelegant movement for the boy that would one day rule over the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, but Felix—he’d been so happy that he’d let it happen. He looked forward to the small touches that would come his way, given all the more reason to stick to Dimitri’s side; what if an opportunity arose for more of those oddly comforting hair pets? Worse, what if Felix _missed one_?

That was a ritual quickly forgotten, however, and neither of them spoke of it ever again. For Felix, it was too painful. For Dimitri—well, it may have just been downright embarrassing for someone who knew so little of proper human interaction.

Felix was powerless, utterly and entirely useless as he felt and saw Dimitri play with a few loose strands of his hair.

“What in the Goddess’ name made you part it so many ways?”

Felix could not speak, for her feared that, if he did, he’d break. He’d shatter so completely that there would be no hope of fixing him, every memory he’d wished to keep in place strewn about the floor along with the rest of Felix’s heart, his mind.

“That’s not to say I don’t like it,” Dimitri continued, keeping to the fiddling that was _too soothing_, too _familiar_, too—too—

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Dimitri froze, but perhaps someone was smiling down on him, because his hand did not move. Maybe the prince was simply terrified that he’d lose his hand if he tried. Felix couldn’t disregard the possibility himself. “What do you mean?”

“Why—you’re acting like—” Felix choked. _Too much_. “Why are you treating me like nothing’s changed?”

“Because everything has changed, except for one thing.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“You and I, standing together.”

What was he supposed to say to rebuke that? It was true, was it not? They _were_ standing together, in the place they’d visited more times than they could count throughout their time at Garreg Mach. Felix was too familiar with loss, with pressures put on him by both promises he’d made and had been made for him. He supposed, in that way, he understood; Dimitri didn’t want to go out and kill, simply thought it was the wish of those he held dear, whom he felt responsible for. Nothing could negate the abhorrence of his actions, of course, but Felix—he could find room to at least understand. Not forgive, not brush off, but . . . understand. And maybe that was all Dimitri needed.

“If this is your way of telling me you did nothing wrong . . .”

Dimitri did drop his hand then, wounded frown that twisted Felix’s stomachs into knots taking hold of his lips. “You _know_ I regret what I’ve done.”

“Can you even say it? Can you say that you’ve slaughtered people almost in the hundreds, near-bathed in their blood?” Felix blinked back whatever stinging was bothering his vision. “Can you admit it?”

“I’ve killed people without a second thought.” Felix should have known better than to challenge to boar prince to anything. “I’ve killed tens of people at once simply because I thought it was right. I’ve taken the lives of many because I let myself fall victim to the feigned wishes of those I love.” That frown deepened. Oddly, much too strangely, Felix’s fingers itched to fix it, to curl Dimitri’s lips back into the small smile he knew they could be. “I’m not better than she is. I can never wash the blood from my hands.”

“Stop talking nonsense.” He didn’t wait for Dimitri to continue this time. “You are better than that maniac sitting happily on the Imperial throne. Yes, you’ve slaughtered just as she has, and yes, you did it with just as much efficiency, but do you know what the difference is?” Dimitri didn’t answer. Maybe that was for the best. “You changed. You had the ability to change. From the whispers that have come my way from people close to the Emperor . . . there’s not a thing that can be done to change that woman’s mind.” Felix stared him down, slowly piecing together the courage he needed to get his next words out. “You’re better. Dare I say it, in some twisted world, you can be good.”

“Felix . . .”

Felix made one of the stupidest decisions of his life; he stepped closer into Dimitri’s space, to the point where he swore he could feel some of the heat the prince was giving off. At this time of year, the monastery was chilly in the places where the roof had caved in, where walls had fallen from enemy assault. Dimitri shouldn’t have been so warm, his fur clock and thick armour mere protection against the nipping winds of the late night. And yet, against all odds, Felix felt like he was standing in front of the largest candle known to man.

_A candle? Seriously? I’m more creative than that._

Except that he wasn’t, not when there were many more important things to think about.

“Have you hated me, all these years?”

“If I hated you, you’d know.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Felix let out a huff. It was all he could do to not look into the blue eye peering down at him, all too seeing and all too knowing. “Sadly, I don’t think I could hate you if I tried.” Frustrated because the beast had taken so little care of himself, infuriated that he’d run off and left the rest of his old House to chase him, saddened that he’d been so useless to help the future king—but never hateful.

Felix was a little insulted at how surprised Dimitri was with his answer. “Now, let’s not jest.”

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t be here. If I hated you, I would have let Professor lead you right into Enbarr. If I hated you, I—” Throat closing, Felix couldn’t force anymore words out. Hopefully, he’d conveyed as much as he needed without looking like a complete buffoon. _If I hated you, I wouldn’t love you as I do._

Warmth brushed his cheek again. Dimitri grazed his fingers against the smaller hairs above Felix’s ear. That strong grip didn’t settle onto his head or in his hair like he’d thought it would; no, Dimitri’s warm hand, calloused and rough after too many years of too much fighting, held onto Felix’s jaw, firm and sure. Felix wasn’t entirely sure he knew any other way of doing things—and also a little scared his jaw might crack under the force of that brute strength.

How long had it been since Dimitri had touched someone without the intention to kill? The beast had been hopeless before, snapping weapons left and right, Mercedes happily relaying the story of snapped scissors whenever she could—but now, Felix wasn’t entirely sure Dimitri knew what he was doing. He was more timid than Felix had ever seen him, fingers starting to shake as the boar prince played with the dark hair in front of him.

A hoarse whisper. “Why don’t you hate me?”

Felix himself didn’t know, but this wasn’t a question he could leave unanswered. “I have better things to do with my time.”

“Than to feel anything for an animal like me?”

“Than to lie to myself about how much I care.” Spending so much time around the prince was starting to wear down his defences. Every truth he’d wanted to keep for himself was spilling from his lips faster than he could catch them.

Dimitri’s brows drew together, the small motion very fascinating to Felix, who was looking for even the smallest of things to pay attention to. “Do you care?”

“Too much.”

“So it is.”

The ghost of lips against his own wasn’t expected, but easily something Felix desired the most in that moment. Kissing a beast, kissing someone he loved with his whole being—those thoughts became one in the same, because Dimitri—he was both the beast and the boy, the one that dragged out so many hurtful words and overwhelming emotions that Felix had to scramble to collect himself a lot of the time. Calling the prince such crass names—it’d been the easiest way to distance Felix from all the things he couldn’t afford to feel. He wasn’t sure what it would entail, to love the man his brother died for so freely. He hated that Glenn had to die, let alone for something so fickle and useless as chivalry, as _honour_—but then Felix was curious about how soft the hairs just above Dimitri’s nape were, if, now that he’d started to care about his appearance again—if they’d be as lovely to touch as he’d always imagined.

He never got to seek out the answer to his question; Dimitri was pulling back with cheeks that would put the tomatoes in the marketplace to shame, spluttering useless apology after useless apology.

“Shut up.”

Dimitri listened, eager as ever, and Felix—he had to very quickly stamp out whatever had started kindling in his heart. “Why did you do that?”

“I must tell you, I do not know.”

_Perfect._ “So you just go around kissing people at random then? I have to tell Professor. You’re a danger to society.”

A poor choice of words, to put it lightly. If they’d still been in the Academy, if Felix was still stressing over when the boar would show his true face next, it would have been able to ease by as a joke—but now, when blood practically ran from Dimitri’s fingers, when death clung to the fur of his cloak, his hair—there wasn’t a joke to be found. Dimitri could be the largest danger to society; had been such for the past five years.

“I didn’t—” Goddess above, save him. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s true all the same, no?”

“_No_!”

Dimitri truly needed to get a different look on his face; the shock was getting old. “Pardon me?”

“Goddess, a danger to society wouldn’t go out of his way to make sure the kid at the market had every apple his heart desired.” The swordsman crossed his arms. “That was a horrible decision, by the way; we need all the money we can get for war funds.”

“Ah,” the prince whispered, lovely pink returning to his cheeks and making a complete and utter mess of Felix’s insides. “You saw that, then.”

“I did. Still think it was a bad move. But . . . frankly, boars don’t by fruit for children.”

“I think there’s a story of some such lingering about.”

“If there is, I’m sure Ashe knows it.”

Dimitri smiled fondly, thinking of their kind-hearted archer. Felix wondered if Dimitri ever got the smile thinking of _him_.

Saint Seiros save him, they should really address the disaster that had just ensued. “I think it’s best if we ignore everything that just happened, don’t you?”

The prince frowned—and _shit,_ that was the most heartbreaking look in his eyes, wasn’t it? What had he been expecting; Felix to swoon like one of the poor souls in Sylvain’s line of fire? Fat chance.

Beyond that, Felix—he couldn’t completely wipe away the image of his best friend with that emptiness, that wild abandon that sent uncomfortable chills of fear down Felix’s spin. Felix simply couldn’t _ignore_ the bloodlust, that craving for the heads of his enemies. What would it to take to make the boar snap again, to show whatever monstrosity lay beneath that loving exterior?

“If that is what you desire, so be it.”

Felix didn’t have the strength to stop the boar as he left. He was disgusted with himself, could nearly taste the self-loathing and fury on his lips as he licked them absentmindedly. What the hell was he doing, kissing a creature and trying to convince himself it was his old friend?

He closed his fist around the hilt of his sword, stalking off toward the training ground. His chest felt open and raw, as if the bone-chilling wind around him was cutting into his skin. _This is not the boy you knew. That boy is dead. The boar said it himself._ Felix knew all of those things, and yet—

His heart yearned for a beast he could not tame.


End file.
